The Book of Doves

Tell me who gave us the Book of Doves
Columba, Columba, Columba
Tell me who gave us the Book of Doves
Columba, Columba, Columba

What was the breadth of it?
A furlong or four
What was the depth of it?
A fathom or five
What was the heft of it?
The heft of the darkness behind every star

And where did he find it, this Book of Doves?
All in the Candida Casa
And where did he find it, the Book of Doves?
All in the Candida Casa

Made of the vellum and bound in the wolfskin,
Encrusted with amethyst and topaz and beryl
By numberless scribes in the cells of Saint Cyril
(Enscribed on the spine with the Sign of the Fisherman)
Written in Basque and Etruscan and Lydian
Left here by Gideon
Brought from the Bosphorus
Died on the Cross for us

Stolen by Mammon and enshrined in the canon
Forever abandoned in the Plains of Slamannan
“Guilders and florins” say the wells of Saint Lawrence
“Guilders and florins” say the bells of Saint Lawrence

Derry is down, Stirling’s away
Sicily’s legion on the banks of the Tay
Anglesey’s gone with the Angels of Mons
Foula and Kilda will die ere they’re born